I'm sorry for the length of this. I started writing, and apparently I had more to say than I realized.

I've read through so many of these posts that talk of complete devastation. Sometimes I feel like I shouldn't tell my story because, in light of so much of what I've read, I am relatively unscathed. I'm not financially devastated, and haven't spent years in the clutches of this man. Still, I feel compelled to write because I'm trying to break away, and even though I've had a number of "light bulb" moments, I'm still not 100% convinced I am dealing with a Psychopath. Either that, or more probably, I need validation that I'm not over reacting to his nonsense, and I'm not completely crazy (yet). ************

The spell begins… aside from his apparent narcissism or psychopathy, written in a romance novel, our story is one of those you would love to tell—love to hear. We met when we were 16, but because of circumstances beyond our control, we only spent about ten hours together that summer. One particular afternoon we went to a park near his house. The weather was perfect, 75 degrees, a very light breeze with the smell of fresh mown grass wafting through the air. I sat next to him unable to look away as he lay on the ground under a tree. The shadows of the leaves danced as the sunlight dappled across his face. He was the most beautiful boy I had ever laid eyes on, and I wanted to get lost in that moment forever. I stayed in contact with him when my family moved out of state that summer, and we managed to see one another again for a few hours a couple of years later when I was back for a visit. I did get lost in that day at the park… For the next thirty plus years, I looked back on that afternoon with the greatest fondness and placed it on a pedestal as the most perfect day of my life.

Fast-forward 32 years. I was cruising around Facebook one day, and I looked for him as I had periodically done for years. This time, though, there he was! Not the same beautiful boy anymore, but then I was hardly the girl I used to be either. Not certain he would even remember me, I wanted to say hello, to find out what had happened in his life. He was married with children, but that was OK, it was just, “hello, remember me?” I certainly was not looking for an attachment. His instant reaction to my greeting hit me like a ton of bricks. “Oh my God, Baby. Call me! Call me! Call me!”

Separated from his wife, his life had not really gone so well, of course I was separated too, so that was hardly a cause for alarm. We talked. We talked a lot about that summer, about seeing one another at 18; he told me I was the first girl he had ever loved. I was shocked to say the least. As a teen, I remember he was mostly just quiet and smiled…a lot. I was always certain I liked him far more than he liked me, but here he was as an adult excitedly replaying all of our time together like an old movie. We were piecing together forgotten little tidbits and filling in the tiny gaps. The most amazing thing was he recalled the day in the park as “the most perfect day of his life.” He told me about what I was wearing, and how my hair looked in the sunlight that dappled through the trees. It sounds really romantic, doesn’t it?

While I am a bit of a daydreamer, I am relatively down to earth and quite a practical realist. Something happened as we were talking though, and I can only explain it as the shared experience of our past whisking me off my feet. Had it not been for that summer, perhaps I would have been more cautious? Maybe the immediate attachment, that in truth struck me as a little odd, would have fired off huge red flags right away? Maybe, if I hadn’t been so attached to that perfect day, I wouldn’t have let myself be so carried away?

So, it began, and in the beginning, it was wonderful. We lived in different states, and he didn’t have a lot of money, so with my flight benefits, I visited him a few times. We spent holidays with his family, and while he didn’t have a lot of material security to offer, that was OK because the attention he lavished on me was far more important. Every day he told me I was the most beautiful woman on the planet—perfect even. He often commented on how nice it was to be with a woman who liked being affectionate in public, noting that his wife would never allow him to hold her hand or put an arm around here unless they were at home alone. The time was magical! Of course, even in healthy relationships, the honeymoon magic fades eventually.

I should have seen the first fight as a dire warning! We were in a restaurant one evening, and my phone rang. The caller ID indicated that it was my ex-boyfriend. Honestly I didn’t think much of it as I had long since told my Psychopath that the ex and I had parted on very good terms, and though we didn’t talk often, we caught up a couple of times a year (how are the kids, how are the parents, how is your job kind of stuff). Since we were on a date, I didn’t accept the call, sending it directly to voicemail and said simply (more to myself than to him), “that’s weird.” I had actually heard from the ex a couple of months prior (right about the same time my Psychopath and I started talking), so to hear from him again so soon was quite unusual. Psychopath asked me what was so weird, and I told him, “_____ called.” Still I thought nothing of it; we were all adults, right?

It didn’t start with a tirade (later I would learn that it never does), it began with relatively benign questions. “I thought you only talked once or twice a year. Why would he call you?”

Of course, I had no answer other than “I don’t know.”

“Didn’t you just talk to him a couple of months ago?”

“Yeah, I did. That’s why I said it was weird.”

“Doesn’t he know you’re involved with someone?”

“I doubt it. You and I had just started talking when I last spoke to him; we weren’t ‘involved’ yet, and mostly we talked about the kids and about his new job. It doesn’t matter though, I didn’t take the call.”

I honestly don’t even know what happened next, but before I knew it, he was yelling at me in the restaurant. He was yelling at me because someone else called me? I was so flabbergasted I really did not know how to respond. How is someone else’s decision to dial my number my fault? Of course, I asked that question. “You shouldn’t have told me that he called. If your *$*@&& ex-boyfriends call you, you shouldn’t tell me. God you’re a stupid woman.” I guess I don’t need to say it didn’t stop there. My stomach was in knots, and I couldn’t eat my dinner (the food sucked anyway, so it was no great loss *grin*). I was confused, hurt, angry, incredibly embarrassed (being yelled at in public is just no fun), and two and a half hours from the nearest airport (my only exit) without a car. We went back to his sister’s place, a 20-minute drive, with him berating me the entire way. Having no exit options just that moment, I told him I would catch a shuttle to the airport in the morning.

I didn’t know how to play this game then. I didn’t know that sucking me back in was part of the sport. We ended up talking and talking, and talking some more. He told me, “I don’t know why I acted like that. I have never been jealous before. You’re just the most perfect woman in the world. I have loved you my whole life, and I don’t want to lose you ever. I’m sorry.” There was a lot of, “I’m sorry.” Then there was the lovemaking… the amazing lovemaking. The wonderful man I was getting to know came back with gusto. The rest of my visit was filled with days of (what appeared to be) genuine sweetness, lavish attention, and heartfelt expressions of adoration.

Later, over the Christmas holiday, I spent three weeks with him. Things with his wife had reached a complete boiling point as he had learned that she cheated on him (with his brother no less) 16 years earlier. He told me that this was the ammunition he needed to completely break with her and make her out to be the culprit. At the time, when he expressed concerns about being sued for child support (I will give him that! He did always send money for his children) and alimony, it made sense to me that he would want it to be her fault. I really didn’t think much about it other than how anyone in a similar situation would probably work around ways to protect him or herself in an impending divorce/custody battle. (I certainly have a more thorough view of it needing to be “her fault” now.)

Anyway, through that boiling situation, she learned about me, which by my reckoning was just fine. When she found out that I was visiting him over Christmas, however, all hell broke loose. She showed herself to be a complete and utter nut-job. She called and texted him constantly (50 or more times every day I was there). When he would take the calls, she reeled at him about me, calling me the most horrific names. I understood her anger, but at the same time, I was looking at the situation thinking that she had left him five times, she had cheated on him, she had poisoned the girls’ minds about him, she had created this situation. As anyone could imagine, her non-stop insanity created problems for us.

Why couldn’t he just stop taking the calls and ignore her text messages? Why did he continue to allow her to engage him? Why couldn’t he just tell her that she was behaving like a lunatic? He had his out, why couldn’t he just tell her to leave him alone because it was over? At the very least, couldn’t he just turn off the phone at night so we could get a little peace? Daily from 9:00 A.M. until often after 3:00 in the morning, it was a constant barrage, and it was making me crazy. He kept telling me that he wanted to end things peacefully (not that she was going to let that happen) so he insisted on responding to her and keeping the lines of communication open. Now for the record, I realize there are children involved, and I never wanted him to give them up. The children were always his reasoning for allowing the insanity to continue. I tried, oh how I tried to be understanding and supportive. He and I fought almost the entire time. I chalked this up to his issues with her; surely, this would end once she finally accepted it was over between them.

As an aside, I now truly feel for this woman. I am not as sane as I once was, and I am reasonably certain that, while there may have been some instability present in her from the beginning, over the 22 years they were together, he contributed to her craziness.

He moved in with me that February. Moving to a completely different state with another woman, one would think that would solidify the “over” in “it’s over.” I was truly fine with the “love you too” when he would get off the phone with her. I completely got that, and never thought much of it, until he called her “Baby.” OK, in truth, that was the least of the issues once he moved in with me.

He finally found a job, just before he ran out of money. The economy sucks, I get that too! He planned to remodel my house. Insurance paid for the better part of a new kitchen due to a water leak over the holiday season, I had money for materials, and since he had been in construction for over 30 years, it was perfect. I was happy; he seemed happy; it was all good.

The summer, however, was horrific. My stepfather had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer several months earlier, and the end was coming near. As they were in a very tight financial situation anyway, his illness, their continuous trips to the, quite distant, hospital, and the isolation of living so remotely, created a situation where I felt it necessary to travel the five hours to their place several times. Fortunately, I had some savings to count on to help them out and finance all the travel. This left him at my house for extended periods regularly throughout the summer. It seemed a perfect situation though as I needed someone to take care of dogs and the house, the remodel was not as inconvenient for him because he didn’t seem to mind living in the mess, and I was able to do what I needed to without worrying about things at home. Everything and everyone was being looked after in the best possible way given the situation.

Only I would go to my mothers, and the accusations would begin. What was I really doing up there? How many men was I meeting while I was there? Huh? Why was I taking my mother (who incidentally has taken care of old and sick people for the last 40 plus years non-stop) to get pedicures while my step-father was in the hospital; shouldn’t we be packing up the house instead?

Now, as he was asking about pedicures and packing up the house, my mind, the one he gets inside, is rationalizing his views. He’s right of course. The house is for sale, and she won’t have any help when it finally sells it. What am I thinking? I need to be doing something besides giving my mother an outlet to talk (which she isn’t one to do) over stupid puzzles. I’m wasting my time. I should be doing more.

My more rational mind, the one I try to keep him out of, is saying, my mother needs support, emotional nourishment, some pampering, and packing up my step-father’s things in anticipation of his death while he’s still alive seems pretty freaking insensitive, doesn’t it?

This is the problem. When he is away from my head, I think clearly and rationally. Everything at my mom’s place was done when it was necessary. I was there to help her financially and emotionally which is what she needed. All was as well as could be expected.

However, when he talks to me, I get confused. As the onrush of questioning comes into full swing, I am answering question number one, while he’s asking question number five, and before I get to question two, he’s berating me about not answering questions three and four, while seemingly simultaneously asking questions six, seven, and eight! Now, I graduated summa cum laude with my BA in education with a minor in English. I’m not stupid! How does he make me feel so inferior, incapable, and utterly useless when he goes here?

When I would come home from my mom’s, he was always happy to see me. Occasionally we would argue a little, but for the most part, when we were together everything was pretty good. There were things happening that I just didn’t have the energy to argue about though. The remodel was going excruciatingly slowly. He was only working a part-time job, and all of the materials were available when he needed them, so there shouldn’t have been any problem getting the work finished. If I asked about it, there was always some reasonably good excuse for the setbacks, or he would point out that homeowners almost always have an unrealistic expectation of the amount of time these things took, so my concerns were normal. I didn’t speak to all of the times when I would call during the day to find him watching movies, visiting friends, or “I had to go see a guy about some tires.” (Later I would learn this was code for going to see his meth dealer.)

Later I also found out that every time I was gone, he would call his wife several times a day. After months and months of saying he was trying to get her to leave us alone, he was encouraging her to continue her obsessive behavior when I was not around. Then he would call me and explain that she was in some hysterical mess because X happened, and he was going to have to make a trip out there right away, “how soon can you be back?” Two days later, her mess was cleaned up without him, but of course by then he and I had already battled over why he would let her get to him over such stupid (crazy) stuff, and how she pulled his strings like a puppet, and he allowed her to manipulate him. (Yeah, I know who the true puppet master was now).

I also didn’t know that he was going through my personal belongings. I didn’t really have anything to hide from him. He lived in my home, so if he went through the drawers in the dressers, it was no big deal. Having said that, however, there are certain things that I believe most of us just understand, without being told, are off limits. I have kept journals for years, and I never worried about any of my friends or family even looking at these books, let alone reading them. I certainly never felt compelled to tell him outright not to look through them, so perhaps I again had unrealistic expectations.

One day in the fall, he said something during an argument that just sat very wrong with me. I didn’t realize why it bothered me in that moment. The information he had, seemed somehow incongruent with anything we had ever discussed. Later, however I found out that it was something that referenced a passage from my travel journal when I had last visited Italy several years earlier. Apparently, because I had pissed him off at some point over the summer, he thought himself completely justified in reading through every one of my journals. I don’t remember how he said it, but when I confronted him with it, he let me know that it was my fault because if I messed with him, he would get even every time. “Payback is a [censored]!” he always tells me. I still cannot express how violated I felt when I found out.

Through the year that he lived in my house, there were many incidents, fights, battles, and yes, even some good times. I miss going to the parks and spending time with him; it was always, since that first summer we met, our special time, and place together.

He moved back out of state with promises to return. His intention was to go to trade school, help his mom out a bit, get a new career, and return to me. I vacillated between wanting him to stay gone and desperately wanting him back. The first three weeks he was away though, it was a constant fight. I had started a new job, so my schedule was incredibly busy. Between my work and school hours, my sudden very early mornings (and therefore early bedtimes as well), and the time difference, it was difficult to get our free time to match and allow us time to talk. When we did talk, he always yelled and screamed at me because I wasn’t more available to him. Long distance is tough enough without me making it more difficult by not getting on Skype with him every evening.

After three weeks of him screaming at me, he told me he found someone else. “When my family stops talking to you don’t take it personally. They know I have a new girl now. Her name is _______.” The rotten subhuman (I like that expression by the way) had gotten on a dating site just three days after he moved. I’m going to repeat that. Three days after he reached his destination, he was on a dating site, and he spend the next three weeks screaming at me because I was exhausted by 9:00 my time after having gotten up at 5:00 in the morning, and couldn’t get on Skype with him. For three weeks he punished me, hurled accusations, ranted, and raved because I wasn’t available for him, while the entire time he was looking for someone else.

He dumped her, and he sucked me back in. He ranted and raved at me again, then “I’ll give you some time, I need some too. Let’s talk in a week and see how we feel. In the mean time, we have to remain faithful and honest,” he told me. A week later, he tells me about yet another new girl—so much for faithful and honest. We still talked; it wasn’t over, and now I really can’t remember what incident caused me to stop talking to him, but I completely cut him off. In a text message, I said something about I hoped one day he would understand why I had to do what I did the way I did it, and that was the last thing I said. I blocked his number, but of course, it still came up in my call log when he called. I would delete the voice mails without listening to them. I blocked his texts, which was a good idea in theory, but ultimately I read them. They were vile and devastating, but I did not respond. We didn’t talk for two weeks. Oh, my God, it was the most difficult two weeks of my life, and quite frankly, while I was living it and just now, as I write it, the difficulty doesn’t even make sense to me. I could sit here and give you a line-by-line detailed account of all the wrongs he’s done to me and all the reason I should avoid his poison, yet when he is gone from me, I am miserable. In case you’re wondering, yes, I was sucked back in again. He sent me an email. It was sweet, and loving, and all of those things that reminded me of the good guy I fell for. Stupid me, I called him. Yep, I was sucked in again!

On a whim late last week, I decided to do an internet search for “how to live with a psychopath.” I didn’t really believe he was a psychopath, I was just annoyed, and that was the word that came to mind. I found site after site. Wow, there are a lot of people out there dealing with narcissists and psychopaths. I had no idea. I’m still not sure, at least not 100% that this is what I’m dealing with. I have read through the forums, look at papers written by mental health professionals, meandered through studies about psychopathy and narcissism, waded through stories that resonate with me (and some that don’t) and I keep wondering, am I painting him into this corner for my own convenience? Is this the “easy” way for me to feel better about my longing to escape?

So I’ll include one more incident from which I wish you would feel free to draw conclusions. This is where I began this morning when I started to write, but apparently, I had much more to say. While not truly fact or fiction (I have taken a bit of poetic license here), this is an amalgamation of a hundred (or maybe it is only 17 or 41 I don’t know) fights we’ve had. ********** I sit on the front porch watching the fog settle between the trees and in to the shallow valleys in the meadow landscape. I am at ease with myself. Then I hear him stir and the pit in my stomach turns violently wretched. I don’t know yet what the day will bring, but already I fear it. Will he be Dr. Jekyll or Mr. Hyde today? I dread and desire both for different reasons. I want Dr. Jekyll, the nice man I fell in love with because my day will be full of laughter and joy. Really though, I also want Mr. Hyde because I desperately need to escape the hold he has on me, and I don’t know how to do it unless I’m angry and bitter.

He calls me “Baby” when he joins me for his morning coffee. I love his sweet greeting. He makes jokes about the birds, about the trees, about the fog. He is a very funny man, right now he is the Doctor—the nice guy. As always happens, his disarming smile and cute boyish charm warm my heart, and I remember all of the good, gentle, glowing, and beautiful qualities this handsome man has.

“We have to make a plan for the day,” he tells me. This seemingly benign statement causes a visceral reaction—one, which I don’t allow him to see. He always makes plans for the day. As he tells me about all of the things we need to do, I feel the spiral begin. To the outside world this would look normal; inside, however, I know danger begins here.

It took me a long time to recognize the pattern, but this morning I’m on guard. I know what’s coming, and I wonder, does he not know? Can he really not see where this will go, or does he just think I’m too stupid to know what’s at play?

He makes plans, I prepare to help him with those plans and begin work on the things that he said needed done. He sits down in front of the television “just for a minute,” I’m told. I begin working while he sits cruising the channels, and I know all of the things he said he would do, are not going to be done. I know that “just for a minute” will drag in to an hour…into all day. I know that later, he will say he is angry with himself for doing nothing, and that anger will eventually be directed me. He will feel achy and awful because his body doesn’t do well when he sits all day, he’ll take that pain out on me too. I also know that I dare not say a word or Mr. Hyde will show up in full force immediately; of course, he will also get off his ass and get something done (yes, I have learned how to manipulate him as well). Now that I know what he is, and fully understand that I will deal with his wrath no matter what I do, saying something is generally the route I take.

I have never seen myself as a victim. That doesn’t mean that I’ve never been victimized, I am pretty certain in today’s world it is difficult, dare I say impossible, to reach the age of say 30 without some form of victimization happening in your life. I am well over 30. I have suffered my share of rackets, rip-offs, and scams. I’ve briefly fallen prey to hustlers, cons, and sexually aggressive assholes. I’ve lived on this planet and have received my share of battle scars; I wear most of them proudly.

It is different with him though. Even as I sit here fully conscious of how the day will unravel, internally indignant at the behavior I already know I’ll have to deal with, completely understanding what he does, the gnawing pit continues to well up inside me. I’m angry with myself. I’ve been angry with myself before, but now it’s different. It’s deeper and more physical. These are the battle scars I hide. I wear these with shame.

The most frustrating thing is, I don’t know why. I don’t know why he affects me so strongly. I don’t know why I cannot break free of him. I don’t know why it got this far. I don’t know why I allow him to pull me. I don’t know why I, a reasonably intelligent, somewhat savvy, fairly intuitive, and moderately logical woman allowed myself to go to this place.

Am I so needy that I will put up with anything? Shame! Am I so desperate for love that I walked right into this spider’s web despite the huge red danger signs, complete with bright blinking lights, posted all over the periphery of the trap? Shame! Am I so pitiful that I cannot preserve myself? Shame! Am I stupid? Shame! Am I now as manipulative as he is? Shame! Am I hopeless? Shame!

Two hours later, after he’s watched a movie I know he’s seen at least a dozen times, I make my stand. I try the, “I don’t want you to be in pain later,” tact. While I already know it will piss him off, and he won’t see the truth in my words, I have scrutinized the approach. The, “you said you would do this today,” path will lead to a more tumultuous conflict, and the, “say nothing and let him have his way,” method will only prolong the inevitable (and of course nothing will be done). I truly have become manipulative! Shame!

I am not sure if I give him enough credit, or perhaps I give him too much. This too is a source of anguish for me. I would like to believe that he doesn’t know what he does and that he believes his own line of [censored]. If this is true, at least the entire relationship hasn’t been built on a foundation of lies. I would like to believe it hasn’t all been lies. If this is true, however, leaving him really will hurt him as much as he says—as much as I (want to?) believe. How can I live with myself knowing that I created that much agony for another human being?

On the other hand, if he is just the lying manipulative psychopath I also believe him to be, forget what that says about him. What does it say about me (Yes, I recognize my own ego in all of this) and how horribly have I have allowed myself to be duped? Shame! This is also painful because who wouldn’t want to give credence to all of the things he says when he’s being charming; who doesn’t want to be seen as beautiful, intelligent, and perfect at least sometimes? Perhaps that is why it is so difficult to convince myself fully that he is in fact a line-item psychopath (and, given my observations, the odds of “psychopath” are extremely good). However, it would make leaving him much less difficult. It would actually cost him nothing, and he would just move on to his next victim.

As expected, a fight erupts. Having looked at countless articles, forum posts, blogs, rants, raves, documentaries, etc., today I can almost see it from a clinical perspective. I hear the words before they are said (of course we’ve had this fight before, so that’s not completely surprising). I can almost stand outside myself and watch the whole thing unravel, and I can see the mistakes I’m going to make before I make them. Despite my indignation, my intelligence, my education, I am no match for him in this arena. I know this before it all happens, but doesn’t keep me from trying.

He is good—really good. He manages to twist my words, to argue irrelevant points about semantics, tone of voice, or inflection until we are no longer on the subject at hand. I don’t let him get away with this and bring it back around to the original topic. If he can’t win one way though, he will win another.

The next round of attacks begin—everything I’ve ever done “wrong” (real or imaged, and I will admit I am not perfect) in the relationship is thrown at me. A phone call (I didn’t take) from a long-gone ex-boyfriend while we were at dinner, a comment someone made on my Facebook page, a breakfast meeting with a potential employer that I didn’t tell him about because I wanted to surprise him with a job, and my occasional outings for lunch and pedicures with my best friend, all become ammunition. Of course, there is more. He coils and convolutes my words and actions to the point that I question myself. I was wrong to tell him about the phone call, and how dare the ex try to intrude on the psychopath’s time with me. I must be encouraging the posts to my Facebook page (through the private messages I am surely sending these people). I was wrong to “lie” to him about the breakfast meeting. And, every time I go out with my best friend, there must be men involved (because once, I accidentally shot a guy in the face with a straw paper that I was shooting at my friend—quite a comical story really, but for another time perhaps).

Now I like to believe that I am reasonably articulate, but when it goes here, I begin to question the reality of who I am. As he targets this barrage of bullets at me, I find myself unable to counter the attacks at the machine gun speed with which he hurls them. The more I protest, the louder and faster the projectiles come. I become confused because I don’t even know which accusation I am answering. They continue at breakneck speed, and my confusion becomes the undeniable “proof” he seeks to affirm my guilt in front of the firing squad. He is in control now, accuser, judge, jury, and executioner.

My head is reeling, and I am in a complete fog trying to catch up to the onslaught. The next round of attacks becomes truly personal as he begins to compare me to his “insane ex wife,” (who apparently tried to fight him in exactly the same way—go figure). Then the name-calling begins. It isn’t necessary to repeat the names; I would rather not give them any more weight than they have already imprinted on my battered heart. This, however, is the point where I completely lose it. I once went so far over the edge, as I was standing in the kitchen, sobbing, barely able to breathe I lost control of my bladder. Shame! I have never been so ultimately humiliated in my life. Even now as I write this, I feel the devastation I experienced then (fortunately I am in control of my bladder this time *grin*).

All of this is my fault of course. “Don’t make me call you names,” he’ll say to me. It has become physical too (yes I know how crazy it is to stay at that point), and that, of course, is also my fault because I “push too far.” If he walks out that door during a fight, I know it will be a bad day for some unsuspecting person in traffic, and that too is my fault. He actually said once that, “If someone gets beat up at a red light today, it’s your fault because you pissed me off.” I know… I KNOW those are not my responsibilities, and I’ve tried to tell him that he makes his choices; if he chooses to hurt someone it isn’t my fault, but he will never see it.

So, the fight ends, with me in tears—always with me in tears. Then later, he comes to me and he apologizes for everything he said and did. He tells me, “I know all of the fights are really my fault, Baby. I’m sorry; I just can’t help it, when I get angry I fight dirty.” I don’t want, or don’t have the energy to rehash it, so I don’t say anything. Just in this minute, as I sit at my computer typing these sentences, I realize how he reads my silence. I have capitulated, buckled under the pressure, folded over, succumbed to him, and yielded once again. It cost him nothing to apologize; as much as I would like to believe his remorse, right this minute, I know he didn’t mean it, he never means it. It is just another tool he uses to keep me under his spell.

~MM~

Edited by Dianne E. (07/10/1212:12 PM)Edit Reason: moved to new thread

Wow! Your an amazing writer!I so relate to everything you expressed. I too met my psychopath, when I was younger. He was my first love. He took my virginity at 16. For years and years I felt I had given up the one man who truly loved me. Until he came back into my life 20 years later. It didn't take long for me to realize he was a psychopath. But im still unable to completely let go. To accept the fact that he never loved me at all. I haven't been back with him per say. But i haven't been able to separate my heart from him either. I've had my heart raked trough the coals for this!

It's a hard thing to accept! That you were never really loved. Oh the shame! I used to think I was so strong and didn't take any crap from men. Now I wonder if I'm just a big insecure worthless doormat of a fool? I have been. Why did I allow this to happen? How could I allow this to happen? I think this shame is part of the reason that keeps me stuck. I know i need to go completely no contact. If i truly ask myself? I know I hate his freaking guts! But I get so scared and so sad when i stop interacting with him completely. And then the mental barrage of everything that's happened. All the pain that comes along with that. It physically incapacitates me. Im fighting to hang onto what little i have left as it is. It's a no win situation.

Taking a look at what has compelled me to get or stay involved in this situation. Hoping to find a way out of it. Never to fall back into it again. Has led me to realize. Ive been targeted by psychopaths my whole life. My step father was one. And somehow I keep drawing in the very things that i fear. I don't consciously feel that I don't deserve to be loved. But I realize I must believe this at my core. How to change that I do not know? I've spent my life trying to be good enough. All it has done is led me to be taken advantage of by pretty much everyone I know.

So the journey begins. I will heal! I will deal with my issues! Because i will not be duped by another f'ing psychopath! Your lucky you have a best friend. I have no friends. I'm to dam scared to make any new ones after this experience. There is so much shame! These battle scars I hide even from myself at times.

Thank you so much for your candid story. I so relate to everything you say. I also read the posts and feel that i have not endured what alot of people have gone through. But it has taken the parts of me that i cant replace. My innocence. My self worth at times. I think these are the things we can all relate to. It's a very unique and perplexing situation.

I have just started no contact again and i really need to stick to it! Sometimes i just cant resist texting him and letting him know i know every rotten thing he's done and is. but oh boy! that's where I know I.ve got some mental issues. You do not confront a Psychopath with the truth. And Ive had this obsessive need to do so for a while now. And he is hell bent on destroying my life. And has succeeded in many ways. But it only makes me want to confront him even more. I don't know why i do it? maybe because i hold so many secrets that i cant tell anyone else? Or that all his punishment will never make me deny my own intuition again. Whatever it is I'm fighting a lost cause. I need to be able to move forward and let some of this anger go. I don't know how to do that, being that it seems to tie into a lifetime of pain and anger I've yet to acknowledge. Its here i can see the glimps that this all happened for a reason.

I agree, you are a good writer. I can also relate to everything you wrote, and I bet any of us can. Don't ever, ever let anyone make you believe that your experience is less tragic than someone else's - the pains we go through are the worst for us, and that's just how it is. I also sometimes read stories and feel that mine was not so bad after all, but the psychical pain is hard to measure, not to mention compare.

I dont think anyone can beat a psychopath. Even those that know, those that have studied them all their lives will tell you NO CONTACT. There is no way to deal with them because every second that you spend with them is not only that second lost but also many to come afterwards, when you question and you wonder and you get confused over and over and over again about how and why are they this way.

I consider myself lucky - I wouldn't have been able to break the bond anymore at that time when the new victim showed up (or maybe rather a new victim was found BECAUSE I tried with my last strengths to break the bond just a moment before). I still dont understand why he had to make me wanna die before leaving me completely alone, I cannot comprehend the evil, but I do know this - had it not been for that other victim and my last stand against, I may have totally given up and stayed in this situation.

It‘s been a long time now, and it strucks me sometimes, like today, how even though I have healed from the pain and learned to understand the evil, how I cannot let go of the image that I loved. Maybe we never can? Maybe if you've conscience, you will always wanna see the good in people? It kills me, cause the good memories of love bring those bad ones and they clash and I am left confused again. It's the worst of all. Remembering the evil side is still very hard.

When I read, "It's a hard thing to accept! That you were never really loved," I cannot tell you how that resonated in my soul. I know this is why I have clung so long to the idea that he isn't really a Psychopath, and that maybe, just maybe he truly has the capacity to love. The more I know, and the more I experience, however, the less inclined I am to believe it. I have not initiated “no contact” yet, but it is very close at hand. The light bulbs are illuminating one by one; the moment is near. The more of these stories I read, the stronger I become. I am waiting for the moment… you know the one. I don’t know what the trigger will be, but I now feel ready for when it happens.

This is why I'm here; I need the reassurance of the people who have been through what I've been through, so I can be strong and hold my ground. My pragmatic nature insists that I do what works, and so far, nothing else has worked. Let us not forget the definition of insanity! For myself, I must try something different than I have tried before. Yes, I had “no contact” for two weeks, and then, he sent a very sweet email, and I caved. Even as I was succumbing, I knew it wasn’t what I wanted in my life. As I was making the phone call, I was questioning myself. One ring, “what the hell are you doing?” Two rings, “You know you don’t want this, right?” Three rings, “This is stupid. Why are you putting yourself back in this situation?” He picked up the phone, and… well, you know the rest.

I didn’t know then what I know now though. For weeks, I have been wondering how I got back here, and of course questioning my mental stability as well. What normal, sane, rational human would put herself back in this position? I’ve asked myself, “if I'm just a big insecure worthless doormat of a fool” too. You, dear Stephanie, are not alone.

It breaks my heart to read your words, to know that you feel like you are targeted by, or drawn to these people because somewhere in your core, you must believe you are undeserving. Of the five women who are closest to me (myself included, because I actually do like me), three, possibly four have had issues with NPDs or Psychopaths. Now I can’t tell you that we are all 100% emotionally healthy, but then, I can’t say that about anyone I know or ever hope to know.

What I can tell you is that these people (Ns, Psychopaths, and the like), while toxic as hell, are also incredibly charismatic. Naturally, you’re drawn to them; a LOT of people are drawn to them. Have you ever watched nature shows? Predators have many artifices designed to capture their prey, and sometimes the ruse is simply their charm. Make no mistake; Psychopaths are very effective predators in beautiful disguises that are designed to lure you into their traps.

Like you, I want to tell him how horrible he is; I desperately want him to understand, and I know exactly where you are coming from here. It is perhaps, however, easier for me to look at you to see the truth in me, than it is to look at myself to see my own truth. That is to say, when I read how badly you want to confront him, I hear my own voice saying the same words. However, I can also see it from a more clear perspective—from the outside—as if I’m watching it in a horror movie, and I am screaming at the screen, “Don’t go back in the house! Run like hell! No! No! Not up the stairs you moron (they always run up the stairs); you’ll be trapped. Run out the freaking door!!!”

It is a compelling notion to make him see the truth, but it will never happen. Just like knowing that our relationship was built on a foundation of lies, so will be his ultimate clarity of self. It just isn’t possible for him to see that truth, no matter how badly I (or you, or any of us) want it. I know that even when my Psychopath says he is sorry, when he sounds so incredibly remorseful, and my heart simply bursts for all the love I feel, it is just a ploy he uses to keep me inside the house. If he would admit his guilt, his fault, his deficiency, the admission would also be a lie, and if I buy into that notion, I will still be in the house, running up the freaking stairs.

I cannot say for certain, because, thankfully, I am not in your Psychopath’s head, but I suspect your Psychopath knows that his actions tie you to him by making you want to confront him. It is probably a thrill for him to watch you struggle with it, succumb to the obsession, then to slap you down again with his abuse. I suspect that is part of his game. I hope you can be strong, and if you can’t do it on your own, that you can find strength in others who have been through this and are willing to share their experiences and insight here. That is my plan. Every time I feel like I can’t resist the urge to contact him, I am going to come here to read, to share, to remind myself of the hell, and to gather the strength to run down the stairs and out the freaking door!

The only person who makes me feel as though my experience is less tragic is me, but I appreciate your support. You are right, whatever the anguish any of us is going through, it is the worst for us.

I agree, no one can beat a psychopath. The “average” person is simply not emotionally equipped to play the game as well as the Psychopath does. It is much like showing up to the line of scrimmage at a football game carrying a bat and ball, and wearing a baseball glove, ball cap, and cleats. We may land a couple of blows with that bat, but ultimately the linebacker in full pads isn’t going to be too affected by our attempts, we are going to be run over, and it is going to hurt!

I too am haunted by the good memories that often carry bad ones as baggage. I am, however, thankful that I have the capacity to love even through all of this. I desperately want to be angry with him, and I need that for a while, but ultimately I will always hope (even though I know it is futile) that someday, some way, he will be able to understand love and find happiness. At the very least, I will eventually forgive (not forget—never forget) the things he’s done, and simply feel sorry for him (from a great distance) and for those whose lives he destroys. Despite what he is, what he has done, and the pain he has inflicted, at least I can say, I loved. I truly loved.

I think i was going to keep drawing in the thing i feared the most. What I resisted persisted. Until i am forced to have to deal with what happened to me as a child. I thought i had and had forgiven. But obviously not. I'd just told myself I had so as to not have to go back and feel it. I can tell you one thing! All of me worst fears are no longer as scary. Because they are my reality. And I'm still alive and kicking:)

I got to see this entire situation from a different viewpoint. I was the child who knew. I knew all his lies. i watched him put on his loving good church going guy act. i knew how he had other women. He is my stepfather I'm speaking of. The only father I ever knew. I never wanted to be tricked like my mother. I resented her for being so stupid. Boy now I understand her side of the story much better.

It took me a while to figure out that my ex psychopath was so jealous and accusing because of what he was doing all day. He picked up on women on cheating web sites all day and could be back to the dutiful adoring family man by the time I got home from work. He cheats all day everyday literally online and off. He needs a constant parade of attention. And yes he is the most charming funny inspirational person to be around. I do have a love and a sadness for him. He has no selfworth of his own. He has to lie to others to get it. I wouldn't wish that on anyone. Not even my worst enemy. I want him to be be able to find happiness as well. But he is evil. I have to accept it. I dont like to accept evil very much. Every time I try in this case. Is where I know in my heart he can be cured. Because God can do anything. But he wont take his free will. He will never change.

Hi MalachiteMoon, welcome to our community. Thanks for your well written situation. One thing that caught my eye is that you are dealing with a double whammy. I have studied meth addiction for many years and did you know the recovery rate is 1 - 2%? Not good odds and then compiled with a Psychopath there is no good way to ever have a relationship.

I hope you consider that if you are in contact with him. One of the things that happens so often is that we all go back to try and recapture the "good times", short lived as they are.

You are a good and trusting person, the trust was just in the wrong person. They are very clever at gaining information to use as bullets to shoot a person in their vulnerable spots. I am glad you found us and hope we can help you bring some peace into your life, it is well deserved.

I wouldn't be surprised to find him use other drugs as well. Psychopaths just love drugs, it's their favorite dish

MalachiteMoon I hope you will find all the info you need here, it takes time to understand and of course all of us had doubts. One thing you have to realize is you are not crazy for looking for love in someone. We've all been there, go back there and understand how it is to love a Psychopath. I sometimes wonder how easy it is for them to lure victims - all they have to do is make little stories, tell a few lines, and oh my god you are in love. Why? Because they are too good to be true. They always talk to your subconsciousness, and your reply is not controlled by you. That is exactly why there is no way to deal with a Psychopath, even when you know all about the disorder you still are vulnerable, because you cannot control what they do to you. You described it very with the email situation and the telephone - it took a few words to totally control your mind.

However, that which makes us vulnerable and defenseless to Psychopaths is also our biggest strength, because its those things they lack that have let humanity go so far. That is what binds people together. Its the thing that has brought you here. I don't know how much this forum will help you, but I can tell you it has helped and still helps me to go through this mess. Just knowing that there are people out there who understand is so much. It helps cause everyone around me - they don't understand psychopathy, just like I once didn't and they believe him (most people) or at best - just ignore the situation. It hurt me very deeply that no one was there for me when all hell broke loose. People are scared of it. They don't want their world to shake. They fear to stand for others and even themselves.

Oh, and as for love and peace and letting go and wanting all the best and healing and love for psychopaths (not just mine, all of them) - I hope they die. I hope they die a long, painful, ugly death. I wish them all the worst. I don't feel a tiniest bit of that compassion. I wouldn't enjoy it, but if I saw a psychopath dying in the street I would never help them. Recently I had a dream about my psychopath being dead, and I know I would be very happy if he was (I felt such a release in the dream). I don't care, this is how I fell, I wish they all died.

Oh, and as for love and peace and letting go and wanting all the best and healing and love for psychopaths (not just mine, all of them) - I hope they die. I hope they die a long, painful, ugly death. I wish them all the worst. I don't feel a tiniest bit of that compassion. I wouldn't enjoy it, but if I saw a psychopath dying in the street I would never help them. Recently I had a dream about my psychopath being dead, and I know I would be very happy if he was (I felt such a release in the dream). I don't care, this is how I fell, I wish they all died.

I third that! I can say I truly loved like I'd never dared to do before. But what or who did i love? How could i really love someone who in reality everything I detest? He knew I'd rather be dead than be with someone like him